Long Sundays...

Shall start with one of my favourite poems:

'Sunday Song
'The calendar has just dropped
A Sunday in my room
I'm puzzled how to hold on
To this long vacant day.
There's a lot of dirty linen
and many pending phone calls.
On the table,theres a shaky mountain
of
books,
and i have to wash my hair too.
I know i wont attend to any of these.
Every now and thenI'll ask my room-mate the time.
and pretend to be sleepy.
I know that in other rooms
the girls are dressing up devotedly.
Looking at them you can easily tell
with whom they plan to go out.
But ask them and they will say,
'A cousin has come from Bhavnagar.'

I wonder at the emptiness
of this Sunday and of all Sundays.
It was never like this
when you were here.
We'd rise late,
sip each other's tea,
bathe together,
quarrel,
all in a few hours.
We'd go places,visit friends,eat bhel-puri,
We'd come back,make love again and call it a day.


I dont know how it has happened
but the road seems narrower without you,
and the sea less dignified.
I can't talk to a soul
without mentioning you.
You know how it bores them.
No one wants a moping matron around.
In reality,
all our friends were your friends,
all our ideas your ideas
all our projects your projects.
I followed you like a corollary.
Now i am away from you,
missing my handcuffs,
feeling stupid
on this long unpromising Sunday.

-Nine Indian Women Poets,
Edited by,Eunice de Souza.